100 Themes Challenge Reader Insert
by hopefuldawn
Summary: So I've decided to take on the 100 Themes Challenge with Hetalia characters. As there aren't 100 characters officially, if anyone has any requests later on, please let me know and I'll go with it.
1. Introduction (Prussia)

Theme 1: Introduction

Character: Gilbert Bielschmidt

He wasn't sure how he had gotten himself into this. One moment, he was casually joking around with Tonio and Francis, the rancid alcohol flowing as freely as their laughter. Within the next instant however, his eyes were snagged by that female, a face he would have never noticed before. Maybe it was the way her hair was falling, or the mildly insecure expression shining in her mesmerizing eyes. But there was something about her that drew him in. He didn't think. He moved. His feet walked him over, his mind oblivious to anything else. He was only devoted to her and her alone. She was still tarrying near the doorway when he finally reached her, her eyes scanning the room in earnest.

"You seem lost, Fraulein."

She jumped at his nearness, his voice almost reminding her of a rake against stones. Startled himself, he cleared his throat, a pale hand extending towards her. "My name's Gil… Maybe I can help you?"

A bright smile followed, one that nearly took his breath away. "Thank you…" Her voice was filled with relief, weight seeming to fall off of her shoulders and make her that much more beautiful. "(Y/n)… And I am very lost."

He grinned, bringing her hand to his lips when she accepted him. He nearly chuckled at the slightly flustered heat that crossed her cheeks at his touch, but he ignored it in favour of trying to restrain his own. "Maybe you're not lost at all, (Y/n)."

She rolled her eyes, a light and playful laugh following. "Don't tell me you're one of those cheesy romantics."

_I may just be, (Y/n)… I may just be…_


	2. Love (Norway)

Theme #2: Love

Character: Lukas Bondevik

He had never really been one to believe in love. It was a silly concept. Half of the people he knew that claimed to be in love, specifically a spiky haired Dane, couldn't even properly define love. It was an illusion, something that he knew could exist, but like the gods his people used to worship… He would never believe in it for himself. His philosophy was to live day by day, and to live with the thought that he was fine being alone. But that had changed in a matter of seconds.

Now, his life revolved around spending time with her. His days were made by counting the smiles that crossed her face, painting mental images of the way the sunlight glistening off of the snow would frame her figure, making her to appear even more angelic. His thoughts were consumed of ways to make her heart quicken and skip as frequently as his own.

But this was not love. Not by the dictionary.

If he went by the wonderful words of Merriam-Webster, love would be described as strong affection, or attraction that hints at a sexual desire.

He would never insinuate that the words were incorrect.

However, it was far from the truth.

Love to him would always be cuddling with her under a blanket near the fire, he regaling her with tales of his old travels, she explaining some of the more recent advances in their world. It would be smudging her nose with flour as they baked cookies for Tino, and sharing the shower as she threw bubbles at him. Love to him would always be her sneaking up on his as he attempted to work, stealing his pen and making him chase after her.

Love to him would never be just attraction or affection. Not when it came to her.

And for that reason alone… He would never believe in love.


	3. Light (Russia)

Theme #3- Light

Character: Ivan Braginski

He always believed that her best trait was the ability to see the goodness in everyone. For the life of him, he could not name a single person that had met her that she did not become at least acquaintances with, her warmth and caring personality burrowing itself deep into the heart of anyone she would cross. Her spirit was beautiful, carefree, and empathetic, her understanding of human nature and passions enough to astound him.

He had been taken completely by surprise when she had asked him to spend more time with her. Most avoided him, almost as if he were a bearer of the Plague. He was used to his loneliness now, Natalya a common source of entertainment, and Toris often stopping by to say hello. But his house was far emptier than before, and he would silently admit to himself on those nights, the nights where the wind was just a nip harsher, where the draft would seep through the empty and nearly silent hallways… Those were the nights that he would admit to himself he missed the companionship.

Suddenly she was there, bringing life back into his home. Company was constantly in and out again, liveliness seeping into his spirit once again. Many did not notice the difference in him, but she had. She always seemed to know.

He would forever be grateful to her. She had taken notice of the chilled and barren halls, the dark and fragile soul beneath, and she brought the light back into his life once more.

She was the light, and her smile warmed his heart completely.


	4. Dark (Veneciano)

Theme #4: Dark

Character: Feliciano Vargas

There was something about the way she looked at him that would make this unfamiliar urge sweep through him. It sometimes scared him, driving a state of fear and wariness into him, incomparable to any war he had ever been involved in. When he had first raised arms against his best friend, he could nearly say that he was lighthearted as compared to the terror that coursed through him at the look in her eyes.

She must be a witch to be able to vex him in this way.

He would be the first to admit that he enjoyed the rush though.

There was always a kind of arrogance in her eyes, shining in amusement at a joke he did not know, aware of something he was almost terrified to wonder about. It was an expression he recognized though, one that he would have never expected to come from her.

She was calling him, urging him to take action. Her eyes nearly demanded that he take action, that he do all within his power to restrain that look in her eyes.

He found his restraint dwindling, his desire to put out that flame nearly overpowering him with each of her casual glances. His heartbeat was nearly erratic, adrenaline pumping through him at a speed that his running could never reach. He couldn't escape from these emotions.

She seemed to have the capability to see directly into his heart, claiming a part of his soul with those eyes of hers.

Everyone always said that he was a source of light and happiness, his optimism contagious and infectious.

But looking into her eyes often made him wonder what it would be like if just once he gave in to the Dark.


	5. Rot (Spain)

Theme #5- Rot

Character: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo

The winter was always his least favourite of the seasons. It was a time of death, of carnage. A time where all he loved was pushed beneath the cold earth, all left to dust and rot. His carnations, his tomatoes, his apples… All were trapped in a frigid state, locked in a moment he couldn't amend.

He stood among his tomatoes, what would be his tomatoes. It had been too long since he had been here, the vines browned and brittle. A rancid smell floated around him, the remnants of several of the old fruits lying open and exposed, what was left of their juices fulfilling their duties in the dominating aroma. His feet made an unpleasant crunch against the hardened ground, the soil rough and immovable. He heaved a sigh, trying to ignore the parallels.

"I'm sorry I waited so long." His voice carried on the wind, lost in seconds from both his timidity and its unrelenting force.

"Of all people, I should have noticed sooner… I should have seen you were suffering. How was I so oblivious?"

In his rage, he picked up a stone, heaving it with all his strength, the pebble lost in the fading February light. His eyes shot Heavenward, searching for answers, probing the skies for information.

Weary knees fell to the ground, the muffled impact echoing slightly in the abandoned garden.

"Why didn't I notice anything before? Everything could be different."

He had let them go, allowed the cold air to sweep around them, claiming his beloved treasure. He had never acknowledged the suffering, the pain, the agony. He had ignored the bruises, the unhealthy colour that marred those smooth features. He had seen but had never realized... And now it was too late.

All he had cared for in life was now left to rot in the frozen and unforgiving ground.


	6. Break (Japan)

Theme #6- Break

Character: Honda Kiku

He had always prided himself on having a truly unreadable poker-face. Around his friends, he was no longer the stuffy, shy, stoic man that most knew him as. But when the time arose, he could best the coldest and most unpredictable of men. None could find any chink in his armor, the façade encasing him completely.

He only donned this expression at specific times: when he needed to make deals, when he felt threatened, when meeting others, or when he was going through so much emotional turmoil that he had no other choice but to hide.

No one had ever seen through his mask, able to detect the true thoughts he hid behind his clever smiles or carefully timed blinks.

Years of training gave him the ability to push his emotions back into his heart, to be contemplated back when he was alone and no one could see. In all of his years, no one had been able to break through his lies… No one except for her.

Like all of his colleagues, he found himself drawn to her. There was something about her: _her mortality? her compassion? her fire? her knowledge? her understanding? _that drew them all in. She had somehow danced into their hearts, holding each of them close in her warm embrace and ensuring them that they weren't alone.

He had avoided her, unfamiliar feelings creeping beneath the unchanging surface. He knew if he spent more time with her, his mask would break completely, and he would no longer be able to hide his sensitivity.

If anyone had the power to make him fall apart, it was her.


	7. Insanity (England)

Theme #7- Insanity

Character: Arthur Kirkland

The last time he had felt this way had been centuries ago, a night where the waves were tossing them to and fro, where the wood around him creaked in protest to the chaos beyond the seeping boards. His men had secured the ship, leaving their captain to his duties, a dark intent shining in his eyes.

Last time, there was nothing to restrain the beast inside.

Last time, he continued until he was fully satisfied, the hurricane outside nothing compared to the terrible storm that barraged the warm and trembling figure beneath his own.

Last time, he was able to unleash his desire with no regrets, with no hesitation, and all of the fury he had tried to keep inside.

But now…

Now he had no choice but to restrain himself.

But by God was it difficult.

He was going insane, he was certain of it.

In his eyes, she belonged solely to him, but his conscience, what remained of it, told him the terrible truth.

She was not his.

He wanted to claim her in the worst ways. He wanted to tie her down, make her scream in agony and bliss. He wanted to make her experience the same level of uncertainty and sensibility she constantly made him suffer.

He wanted to rip her apart, to eat her heart and soul.

He wanted to see her bleed, to hear her laughter seep out in the same manner as her life force as it oozed itself from the mars he was determined to leave on her.

He wanted to tear her apart in the same instant that he wished to pet her and assure her that all was well, that there was nothing to fear.

His eyes followed her every move, a darker part of him wanting to give in to the insanity and finally overpower her. To give her no chance of escape.

But instead he would just smile, his posture calm and docile.

He was a master of composure, and no one would ever see just how cracked the former conqueror had become.


	8. Heaven (China)

Theme #8: Heaven

Character: Wang Yao

Sometimes he wondered if he had lived for too long. Sometimes, as he silently watched his younger siblings, or when he was making even more terrible deals with Alfred… Sometimes he wondered if it was time for him to fade away and allow someone else to take the reins.

He had lived for millennia. His first real friend had been gone for centuries now, the grandchildren a dim reminder of the glorious empire that had once stood where their shoes now lightly treaded. He had seen the world change its shape hundreds of times over and over again, the story rarely changing.

He was ready for a respite.

Unknown by all, he had begun planning ways to disappear, to softly fade away like Arthur's cigarette smoke into the bleary atmosphere. He didn't want to end his life, no. All he craved was a rest, some time to indulge himself like the old man he really was.

She seemed to see that he was suffering, always knowing exactly where his pain lay. He was almost convinced her fingers were magic, knowing how deeply to probe into his back, knowing exactly where the tension lay.

Her digits could play him like any instrument. He had happily given himself to her skilled touch though, a willing victim to her mastery. She could pull any of his strings on a whim, and he would surrender to her power immediately.

Few knew of her talent. He doubted that she even realized how blessed she was to possess such a skill.

After a while, he no longer wished to fade away. He had found his Heaven, and he wasn't going to let her go anytime soon.


	9. Memory (Austria)

Theme #9- Memory

Character: Roderich Edelstein

Figures twirled and dipped elegantly in the large room, the piano's sound tracing over them and providing a steady rhythm for them to follow. The fire's glow encased everything in a shroud of oranges and reds, the hue making it appear that they were all apparitions from a mystical realm.

His fingers danced across the keys, the pale stubs creating the hypnotic medley that the dancers found themselves lost in. His eyes were closed, lost completely in the song he was composing, the ebony and ivory beneath him surrendering wholly to his expert caress. A soft smile, almost uncharacteristic of him, played upon his lips, his enjoyment clear from his posture and the lack of tension in his shoulders.

He was happy now.

His eyes suddenly shot open as another joined his song, a haunting voice adding an alternative layer to his piece. His smile grew broader as he immediately recognized his accompanying performer, her pitch giving him goose-flesh.

He could swear his spirit was soaring ever higher with her cresendos, his heart nearly stopping as her volume lowered evermore.

Their two medleys, while not designed to be performed together, melded into something indescribably unique and precious. Her words were nearly wild, passionate and brash. His piano was soft, careful, and poised. Somehow, the two balanced each other out, his soft undertones dulling the sharp jabs her words could inspire.

As they reached the climax, he felt a moment of dread, completely aware that in mere moments it would all be just a memory, and never would they have this scene again.


	10. Blood (France)

Theme #10- Blood

Character: Francis Bonnefoy

He hated that, sometimes, it came down to this. Since the Revolution, he had aspired to nothing more than to spread love and peace. He wanted nothing more than to support and care for others, finding no desire to harm anyone again. He had committed so many horrendous crimes then; he only wanted to redeem himself.

But sometimes, unfortunately, it came down to this.

He frowned as he stared down at the felled man. He had successfully escorted (Y/n) home, her eyes glittering beneath the porch lights. He may have overstayed his welcome a little, completely absorbed in the way her hair was falling, and the way her voice was fading from laughing too often.

They softly exchanged their adieus, his arms pulling her as securely into his embrace as was deemed proper. He wanted to do more, but he was not courting her, and he knew better than to push her. Despite the rumours, both knew he was a perfect gentleman, and she admired him for that.

He waited until she was inside, the lock clicking resolutely in the quiet side street. He began his long trek home, inserting his hands deep into his pockets. His eyes drifted upwards, smiling despite the ominous clouds above him. His breath made a trail as it passed his lips, the cold nipping at his lips. Scarf adjusting, he carried on his way, taking note of a second pair of footsteps that seemed set on following him.

Intentionally making several wrong turns, he noted that the figure continued to pursue him. It was after he ducked into an alley, acting as if he were lost and confused, that the disciple finally announced his murderous and envious intent.

With a fluidity that many often forgot he possessed, the Frenchman pulled his own weapon, a singular shot echoing in the dismal evening. The stalker's voice cried out in agony, bending to reclaim his gun from the frigid puddle with his still functional hand.

Within seconds, a third shot pieced the silence, the blond now hobbling due to the misfire of the other's careless aim. Blue eyes narrowing, he took a second shot, the attacker falling to the ground, the light leaving his orifices.

He sighed, placing his gun back in its holster, his eyes sweeping downward to take inventory of the damage to his leg.

He worried his lip, removing his scarf to stifle the bleeding.

It didn't take long to make it to his own residence, despite his hobbling and imbalance.

As he removed the makeshift bandage, aglow with the artificial light, he frowned, his fingers becoming soaked with the liquid.

Sometimes, as much as he despised it, he would be reminded of just how much blood stained his hands.


	11. Two Roads (Liechtenstein)

Theme #11- Two Roads

Character: Lilli Zwingli

She knew there was a divide between them, one that was far from easy to breach. Their personalities clashed, the other more outspoken and tenacious, while she was calm and polite. She hated the way her presence would capture the eye of everyone else in the room. She wanted to be the only one who could watch her.

It did not help that the two often found themselves at different ends of the playing field. They were similar, both offering support to their dearest friends and concealing how strong they truly were. They both were living a beautiful lie, two separate stories with a similar plot.

One was considered delicate and fragile, often overlooked by others from her soft-spoken countenance and gentle words. The other danced around danger, tempting her competitors into a twisted game, one where she always seemed to emerge the victor. She would use her clever charm and arrogance to hide how fragile she truly was.

The nation wanted nothing more than to pull the human into her arms and assure her that she would never share the other girl's weakness with the world. Between the two of them, they could continue living this illusion: that the one was weak while the other strong. No one need know the truth. No one save them.

But as she sat poised and carefully took another sip of her mid-afternoon tea, watching (Y/n) interact with the others, she made a mental note to not allow her hopes to rise.

The lady with the (h/c) tresses and shocking (e/c) pools would never once consider the little girl with a purple ribbon in her hair.

Their stories were similar, their paths nearly identical to each other.

But Liechtenstein knew they walked two roads, running parallel to each other.


	12. Rain (Scotland)

Theme #12- Rain

Character: Alistair Kirkland

There was something about the raw power that always captured his attention, his eyes immediately darting towards the nearest window at the slightest disturbance in pressure. He could feel it coming, hours before any meteorologist could make a guess. He always knew.

Sometimes he wondered if he was finely tuned to the elements, if it was something that he had been born with. Ever since he was crawling, able to fend for himself, he had looked forward to these moments, his habits and desires unchanging in over a thousand years. Whenever he would see the clouds changing, the wind adjusting its speed and direction, the birds seeking shelter, an uncontrollable glee would fill his veins, whatever duties he was involved in quickly finished to indulge in his addiction.

No one could understand his level of elation in getting soaked to the bone, in allowing the weather to overpower and embrace his spirit completely. He often allowed himself to become a simple puppet to the relentless breeze and the steady downpour.

Arthur had often questioned his brother's sanity, but after some of the Englishman's own quirks were discovered, all doubts soon faded.

Alistair had been more than ecstatic when he bumped into her one afternoon. She was merely an unnamed figure, lost in her own carefree dance, her only beat that of the precipitation around them. He approached her slowly, the water-logged angel almost a mirage in the mist and droplets.

Her laughter carried in the air around them, playing with the splatters on the ground and the drips falling from the surrounding buildings. The two surrended once again to the delicate and potent force, a harmony rising between them that he couldn't believe he had lived without before.

Alistair Kirkland had many reasons to love the rain. (Y/n) encompassed most of them.


	13. Night (Romano)

Theme #13- Night

Character: Lovino Vargas

(Y/n) knew she was being stupid. The whole scenario was reckless, foolish, and bound to get her hurt. Still, she had to admit there was a certain appeal to the situation, her pulse quickening with excitement, her footsteps nearly silent as she darted from shadow to shadow, blending into the darkness around her.

Her fingers were shaking in restrained nervousness, her senses heightened and tuned to the slightest of changes around her.

She hadn't a clue why she had agreed to this in the first place.

No one would believe her if she were honest and bluntly mentioned that it had been his idea to begin this terrifying game.

She ducked and concealed herself behind a tree, eyes flickering upwards and contemplating climbing it and perching above the field, seeking out her enemy. Her decision came swiftly, noting that the nearest chance for leverage was several inches out of her reach. A soft curse past her lips as she swept her surroundings once again with her nearly blackened eyes.

A movement from her left caused her body to stiffen, her breath halting before it completely released. Subtly, she adjusted her body, preparing to run or fight as needed. A small figure suddenly darted by, the girl nearly losing her composure as the rabbit skittered away.

She hissed in frustration, righting herself and preparing to move to the next shaded shelter. She needed a safe haven, one where he wouldn't find her. Her legs moved to carry her, when suddenly a pair of warm limbs wrapped around her frame, a soft hand trapping her lips.

She jumped as a voice whispered directly in her ear, shivers of dread and desire skittering through her system.

"You're good, ragazza… But not as good as me." She stiffened as his teeth nipped her ear, his hand lowering to lightly press against her neck. "I'm impressed." His hands wandered slightly lower, her body trembling beneath his touch.

"But I know something that you can do that would impress me further…"

The darkness around them seemed to become thicker, her gaze lost as she succumbed to his strong caress.

If (Y/n) has learned anything about the elder Vargas brothers, it is two things:

First: the two are as different as Night and Day.

Second: Lovino _is_ the Night, and he is a god in his element.

Who is she, a mere mortal, to deny a god's demands?


	14. Silence (Seborga)

Theme #14- Silence

Character: Marcello Vargas

As an artist, he understood the need for a peaceful atmosphere, one in which one could concentrate and focus completely on the task at hand. His definition of peaceful rivalled that of many though, his preference lying in having pulsating compositions echoing in the background. He had never been able to handle a lack of noise, his autophobia far outranking his older brother's.

He always had the music with him, the melodies always reflecting and expressing his emotions in a way that his own words never could. He always had his music with him, sometimes even serving as a DJ for fun. He had even written some of his own pieces, contemporary numbers that some of his people would make famous later on. He never did it for the glory, but only for the enjoyment and liberation it brought to him.

Lovino may be a culinary master, Feliciano a painter… But Marcello was a musician. He was nothing without his sense of sound. He would do all he could to preserve this sense, to protect the only tool necessary for his art.

He had first met (Y/n) through his older brothers, the girl coming to visit their home as part of her personal quest. The two had clashed at first, their preference for focus and concentration at different altitudes.

They couldn't work together.

She was quiet, and found peace in the silence.

He was loud, and his only peace came in having sound, in having something else present to remind him that he was not alone.

Little-by-little though, he made it his goal to expose her to a world of sound, to have her listen to the world around them through his ears; he wanted her to see the way the music floated and danced among the streets and vases, kissing the children playfully and caressing the old ladies like a past lover. He wanted her to know what it was like to see the world painted with the layers of sound, to notice how empty and bland it could all become if she allowed the silence to rule over her.

He had no idea that she only liked the silence because it gave her a clean start, allowing her to compile her own song, she picking out her own vocals and instruments to her heart's content.

As she watched him duck back into his room, headphones once again blaring into his ears, she heaved a sigh.

_When will you realize that the even the most intense song has to have a moment of silence?_


	15. 4:29 PM (Belgium)

Theme #15- 4:29 PM

Character: Belle Janssens

Her heels clicked gently against the concrete, her pace steady and slightly hasty. Her eyes kept frantically shooting down to her left wrist, sometimes her eyebrows crinkling in annoyance and worry.

She was running late.

Belle knew she had only a few more seconds to make it in time, to be able to partake in the only tradition in her day that she truly counted down the seconds to.

She finally arrived at the shop, immediately having a server escort her to the back booth, one where she could easily observe the people passing by outside, and to take inventory of the other patrons in the small restaurant. She was a regular, and the waiter stood off to the side, waiting for her usual guest.

Frantic green eyes shot once again to her golden timepiece, a frown tickling her lips. Her impatience was almost notorious, something that her Italian friend often criticized her for.

The blond mindlessly took a sip of her water, a special brand she carried in her own bottle. The food servicemen were used to these odd habits, easily becoming accustomed to the small quirks their daily patron displayed.

She huffed once again, another moment passing by. She counted the ticks of the second hand, eyes flashing between the unchanging door and the travelers outside.

A small smile crossed her features at the electronic ding of the door opening, a familiar step and laughter carrying over to her through the nearly empty dining room. Green eyes shot towards the door, greeting the newcomer with a smirk.

Apologies tumbled from the lips of the (h/c), words that the blonde immediately laughed off. Her mind was devoted to the stray hairs that were standing at odds against the delicate style, the glasses of her guest fogged from her haste. Her jacket was uneven on her shoulders, soon amended as she took her place across from her friend.

"Seriously though, Belle… I really am sorry for being late."

"It's 4:29, (Y/n)… Since when is one minute early late?"

The other rolled her eyes, clearly not amused. "Your watch is slow, dummy."

A hum passed the lips of the former, no other sound of reply forthcoming. Instead, she scanned her menu quickly, hiding her genuine happiness behind the paper and lamination.

Yes, Belle was an impatient woman. The most difficult part of her day was waiting until 4:29 PM each day, knowing that (Y/n) would be there, her ideal companion for any afternoon.


	16. Breathe (Lithuania)

Theme #16- Breathe

Character: Toris Laurinaitis

He always grew tongue-tied around her, his words tumbling out in a jumbled mess that no one, including himself, could begin to comprehend. He was often mocked, his stuttering and rambling the perfect fuel for his tormentors. He knew it was all said in jest, nothing intended other than innocent and amused humour. He would never show how much the jeers impacted him, the words hitting him on a level that he refused to show. Unknown to all, the jokes caused his nervousness to increase ten-fold, his cheeks enflaming in both irritation and embarrassment.

It wasn't easy being as introverted as he often was.

To be honest though, his awkwardness had unleashed their friendship, allowing her to grow comfortable with him and confide in him. She had shared with him all of her secrets, she seeming to prefer his company opposed to the more outspoken ones, such as Feliks and Arthur.

He was more than flattered that she had chosen him to become close to.

On most occasions, he was able to communicate with her with an eloquence that he often surprised himself with, his words now able to pass through his lips with no hesitation or contemplation. His own sense of humour showed in his pitch, she constantly able to rebut his sarcasm with a bite of her own.

He knew he was growing attached to her, she filling his world with even more excitement and energy than he could have ever expected.

Each meeting he anticipated filled him with adrenaline, his anxiety threatening to eat him from the inside-out. Sweat would creep out in the most unseemly places, his fingers beginning to shake uncontrollably, dizziness making him feel as if he were going to fall apart. On most occasions, it was easy for him to control these reactions, centuries of practice aiding his quest.

But for the first time in decades, he could feel his heart racing in that uncomfortable pace, his throat drying, his palms becoming clammy.

He felt a nudge from the side, his eyes flickering over to the Pole. "Relax. I'm here, so there's nothing to worry about."

The brunet rolled his eyes at the words of the blond, finding himself surprisingly relieved. "Because everyone's totally here to see you."

"You know it!" The green eyed man winked, his head turning towards the back of the room. "She's here."

Toris turned his head, all thought leaving him as he saw his angel in white.

He never acknowledged the breath against his neck, or the pats on his back. His whole focus was devoted entirely to her, and the way she seemed to float down the aisle. An uncontrollable smile, full of his elation, shone on his face, and he was certain that those were tears moistening his cheeks.

Her eyes were timid, almost as if she were as nervous as he was. He gently clasped her fingers, bringing her small hand to his mouth for a soft kiss.

She smiled, biting her lip in the process at the sweet gesture.

_Just breath, (Y/n)… Just breathe._


	17. Chapter 17

Theme #17- Smile  
Character: Matthew Williams

He loathed himself for this. He hated how often he would allow the elder to convince him to play this game, to participate in something he had no desire for.

He was lying to himself though. He often enjoyed this as much as Alfred. He knew they were both cunning and sadistic, even if in varying forms.

Matthieu and Alfred, for years, have been taking each other's places, purely for their own enjoyment. Only Francis had discovered them, the Frenchman laughing at the twins and allowing them to continue their charade.

Their ability had helped them out of multiple situations, Al's ability to sweet-talk coming in handy for Mattie, and Mattie's subtle intimidation getting them both better deals in several major negotiations with Germany, Australia, and even Britain.

There were moments when Mattie would dress as Al solely to get the American lectured, though his guilt often consumed him after, causing apologies to pour past his lips in a panicked rush.

But this was the final straw.

Al had called him up earlier, begging the Canadian to pose for him while (Y/n) was over. The girl had scheduled a day with the American nearly a week ago, one in which Alfred mysteriously could not attend. Not wishing to see her heart broken, Mattie immediately agreed, cursing his sibling all the while.

Currently, the couple was leaving one of the cheaper restaurants Al had to offer, she giggling as she danced ahead of him and jumping into puddles, remnants of a light spring shower. He smiled softly to himself, wincing as he shifted it into Al's annoying grin.

(E/c) eyes turned back to him, playful and bright. "Come play with me, Mattie!"

Shock shot through him, something he easily disguised with confusion. "Why'd you call me 'Mattie,' (Y/n)?"

She rolled her eyes, walking back to him. "I'm not as oblivious as you and your brother may think, Blondie. I knew right away."

He didn't bother concealing his surprise now. "How…"

She finally reached him, smiling up at him, understanding and caring in her eyes. "I'd know your smile anywhere."

She waited for no reply, taking his hand and pulling him along, laughing as she went. And as he gripped her hand in his own, he relaxed, a real smile reflecting on his face.


	18. Chapter 18

Theme #18- Abandoned  
Character: Peter Kirkland

She had always had a weakness for eyes. Eyes were always the first thing that she would analyze a person with, something that could tell her nearly all she needed to know about their personality as she first met them. His eyes had been no exception.

They were blue, but a shade that she struggled to describe. They were the shade of the ocean as you stood on a silent beach, the waves calmly lapping against the shore in their eternal song. They were the darkest shade of blue on a perfectly clear sky, the shade of blue that met the darker horizon, a shade that was halfway into the night. They were the shade of blue the sky turned as the sun began its trail across the sky on a fogged morning.

His eyes were her weakness. The youngest Kirkland had a mouth that could rival any of his siblings' easily, a plethora of foul words ready to strike at a moment's notice. No matter the obscenities that tumbled past his lips however, she was always held captive by his eyes. They sparkled with a dark light in them, one that could keep her mesmerized for hours on end. It only took him a short time to discover her weakness, only a short time to use it against her.

If there was an argument. If he wanted something. If he was trying to get her to forgive him. It did not matter the reason. He knew his eyes were her weakness, and Peter loved to use that against her, time and time again.

But now he was praying, for the first time in years, that his eyes would not fail him now. He had been waiting for the right time for several months now, keeping on the lookout for the opportune moment.

His eyes trace over each of her features, pleading with her. He's no longer sure how they had gotten to this point, how he has become so dependent on her. He was used to being overlooked, and turned away, but she had been the first to smile and accept him for who he was. Now…

Now he's terrified that she would leave him too.

He can only hope that his eyes will be enough to convince her to stay.

He's tired of being abandoned.


	19. Chapter 19

Theme #19- Moon

Character: Vladimir Popescu

Many often mistook him for something he was not. The rumours constantly circled around him, rubbing against him with the same rough texture as a cat's tongue, but with no enjoyment or amusement on his part. Still, he would not deny that he shared some similarities to the legendary creatures. _Vampyres… Such a silly concept._

He enjoyed the traditions. When it came to winning her over, it had been through his outdated top hat. Her bemusement had endeared her to him, his humour setting him instantly on a pedestal for her. His style reflected ages past, echoes of his darker lords and the myths that clung to his lands. He embraced the mannerisms, his personality reflecting and delicately encasing the noble court.

He loved the flare, and the ability to control her sanity with just one touch. She had a weakness to him, magic or no.

These moments were the ones that made him question it most though.

She lay beneath him, body trembling and heat rising. Bruises littered her neck, remnants of his greed and eternal hunger. One taste had never been enough to sate him, and he could not stop once he began. She often put up a struggle, trying to delay their pleasure for a short time, to prevent the ecstasy from being anything less than breathtaking.

Her (h/c) locks splayed across the sheet, tangles evident in her mane. He smirked to himself, pride seeping through his blood at the sight of the blush on her cheeks, at the frequency with which her heart was still racing beneath her skin. (E/c) eyes, aglow with the light from their window, opened and watched him, waiting on his next move. He knelt down again, resuming their dance.

Yes, Vladimir would always be fond of these moments. The moments where the world was dark, where the only light came from the sensuous moonlight, and where their addicting sin could be hidden from the rest of the world.

No. Vlad was no vampyre. If anything, he was a werewolf, driven to consume his willing victim beneath the light of the full moon.


	20. Chapter 20

Theme #20- Breaking the Rules  
Character: Thomas Kirkland

For the record, it had never been his idea. He had wanted no part of this, the situation thrust upon him when he was least expecting it. One moment, he was lounging on their couch, once again contemplating their evening's plans, and the next instant they were here.

Worry and fear tingled and played with the back of his neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. He was trembling slightly, his eyes flickering back and forth between her and the building that she was focusing on. Her (e/c) irises were focused on the wall in front of her, a skilled hand following an invisible pattern across the previously barren surface.

He was hypnotized by her movements, a talent and delicacy in her style reflecting in the paint as it layered itself into an image. Her fingers were wrapped softly against the aluminum, little speckles of colour landing upon the digits, reflecting a unique image that wasn't quite complete.

Curious, he glanced once again at the wall, the layers of colour changing it from the bland brick-red to hues of blue, yellow, and green. A splash of red was suddenly added, an obnoxious intruder to the otherwise calming scene. As she continued however, he saw the final product take its form, the design so clear that he was almost ashamed he didn't recognize it sooner.

He turned his attention back to his section of the wall, his hand delicately tracing out letters in a manner that was nearly forgotten. Compared to her bright and ornery display, his was softer, and most likely overlooked unless the viewer was searching for it. Still, it did bring a sense of exhilaration to his veins, a passion and anxiety that he had felt only several times before. His words were simple and pure, a motto from one of his military divisions. Somehow, the saying encompassed this moment.

"Ma Nga Hua Tu Tangata."

He was known as the one who always kept the others in line, that never bent the rules to his own favour. He was noted as being the one who was most easy-going, the one who no one thought to keep an eye on. He was never naughty, and had an almost quieter disposition than his Canadian relation.

As (Y/n) quickly finished her picture, he grabbed her hand and started to sprint, adrenaline and excitement filling his system. They hadn't gotten caught, but a part of him wanted to be discovered.

No one would believe him if he told them just how often he and (Y/n) were sneaking off, breaking each of the fragile rules that his reputation had set for him.


	21. Chapter 21

Theme #21- Europe

Character: Alfred F. Jones

He despised the cold. Utterly and completely loathed it. Winter by all accounts was his least favourite season, a time where he would relocate to Tampa Bay, or take that trip to Jack's he planned out each year. He hated the way the ground hardened and crumbled beneath his feet, the way his breath lingered in the air around him, and the feeling of the moisture leaving his hands, leaving them wrinkled and sometimes bloodied, the dry skin irritating and painful. He disliked the need to choose a different coat each year, of needing to be prepared for snow. He hated the tingling sensation on his nostrils, the chill seeping into them no matter how thick his scarf.

He could never understand how Mattie lived with snow at his place nearly all year.

There was something a little different about tonight though. A warm hand was gently clasping his own, two pairs of shoes crunching against the rock salt littering the concrete walkways. He winced at the sound, his irritation only alleviated by the sound of her laughter, or her commentary on the windows around them.

He's not sure how she convinced him to do this.

He fidgeted in his jacket, frowning at the sensation of his tie shifting.

It there was one he hated more than the cold, it was donning his Sunday best and being expected to prance around like some cocky peacock in the spring. He grumbled to himself, only to be reprimanded by a tighter squeeze.

Annoyed blue eyes flickered to his left, a scowl accompanying them. She merely raised a brow in challenge, a frown showing itself on her face in retort.

"Do I really have to do this?"

A glare. "Yes, Jones. You have to do this."

"But…"

"No buts. I already have this one to deal with." She made a slight gesture towards her posterior, her eyes shooting forward.

He huffed in annoyance at her words, growling and turning his attention back to the sidewalk and the rock crystals, sparkling beneath the street's lights. He heard a sigh from beside him, and a warm figure stepped closer to him. "I'm sorry."

He was quick to forgive, and adjusted his position so that they could share in each other's warmth, his figure immediately relaxing at her nearness.

They soon arrived to their destination, observing a long line of shining vehicles and a steady stream of flashy figures pooling into the building. Christmas lights clung to the walls in elegant patterns, not quite as boisterous as their personal display back home, and yet prominent enough to show the care and delicacy that was placed in arranging them.

From their position, it was easy to see the others ascending the stairs, clad in their finest clothing for the event. He let out a sigh, his shoulders drooping, only to be greeted with a gentle nudge. "What's bugging you?"

A quick excuse past his lips, one that required no contemplation. His words ceased however at the look in her eyes, her lack of amusement shining clearly through the flurries around them.

"I don't want to deal with the drama okay?"

She chuckled, poking his cheek. "For god's sake, Al. It's Christmas… That's your family in there."

He frowned, his brow quirking at her words. "All of Europe is in there."

A small smirk formed on her lips, her bright eyes sparkling in mischief. "Then show them why no party's complete without an American."

He scoffed at the reference, memories of a summer night past skipping through his mind, a grin crossing his features. Her smile became genuine, he escorting her away from the frosted curb to the sparkling bulbs and ornate gowns, the music hanging in the same manner as their breath in the air around them.


	22. Chapter 22

Theme #22- Tower

Character: Benedito Atílio

He had always been fond of his privacy. It was his brother that was always the more wild, his brother who would dance in the spotlight, dragging anyone he could with him. It was his brother who would always have the raging fury hiding just beneath the surface, his brother who played on the heartstrings of many a human, and even some of the nations if he were remembering correctly. It was his brother, not him, that somehow managed to always see a silver lining, no matter how somber the scene. It was his brother that never truly understood that sometimes it was a perfectly acceptable thing to not wear your heart on your sleeve, and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with keeping secrets.

Honestly, he's lost count of how many times he's tried to convince Antonio to be a little more reserved.

Benedito Atílio is a very private man. He will never understand how his brother could be completely the opposite, unreserved and adoring to the point of it becoming obnoxious.

They were like oil and water in so very many ways. Antonio would forever be the optimist, dreaming of a better world and a more peaceful life. Benedito was no idiot, and knew that the only way to achieve any sort of peace was to keep your mouth shut and work for it.

He had plenty of moments throughout history where he was able to laugh in the face of his adversaries, but now he's much quieter, casually observing his impacts and noting how often he is now overlooked due to his more accomplished and outspoken younger brother.

It's no wonder why he and Lovino ended up as fairly decent friends.

Benedito was content with himself. He was no longer regarded as a major player in the world stage, and he was more than happy to take a backseat and let the others lead. He rarely objected to their plans, knowing someone else with more courage or less patience than himself would propose a far better solution in the end. He was hardly approached for many of the economic issues, though Arthur continuously tormented him with bad jokes and his contagious sarcastic humour.

His best friend was good for only two things: making him laugh, and ruining his life.

It had been Arthur who had introduced her to him in the first place. She was nothing special, truth be told. She was merely a young lady with (h/c) hair and curious (e/c) irises. Nothing to upset him. But then she smiled at him.

His heart stopped for a moment.

Nothing's been the same since then.

Back when he was a boy, he used to listen to Romulus tell them stories of brave princes and legionnaires, fighting barbarians and rescuing damsels in distress. As a teenager, he heard tales of beautiful young women locked away, hidden from the world around them. Much like his relatives, Benedito used to imagine himself as a hero, saving some poor maiden.

But as each day passes, he acknowledges one thing:

For the longest time, he was the idiot that was trapped in a tower. All he can do is hope that (Y/n) is willing to rescue him instead.


End file.
